


The Time Is Now

by Angelike



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: M/M, Magic Reveal, Pre-Slash, Short Story
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-09-20
Updated: 2009-09-23
Packaged: 2017-10-02 12:57:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,718
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6586
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Angelike/pseuds/Angelike
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After two years in Arthur's service, Merlin knows it's time to tell Arthur the truth about himself. But fear grips him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Merlin's Side

Merlin’s palms are sweaty, his fingers trembling, and he can taste bitter bile in the back of his mouth. He’s never been more frightened in his whole life. He’s standing in front of the door, hand poised to knock, hesitating. Part of him wants to turn back now, wants to flee like the coward he is back to the safety of Gaius’ chambers. He doesn’t want to do this. Not now. Possibly not ever.

Gods above, what if Arthur hates him for this? What if he never forgives him for keeping this secret? What if he doesn’t understand? What if Merlin is wrong about him and Arthur decides to have him executed, after all? What if?

It’s late, his fear whispers seductively, too late to trouble Arthur with such a thing. Wait. What’s one more night of silence? Tell him tomorrow, when both your minds are clear. There’s always tomorrow.

Yes, there would always be a tomorrow—which was precisely the problem. He could put this confession off until tomorrow easily enough, but just as he would be preparing to say something, he would once again find himself grappling with a perfectly reasonable excuse to put it off for another day, and then another. Maybe Arthur would wake up in a sour mood, or lose a match to one of the new knight-hopefuls, or another magical attack would be made on the royal family, or there would be a sorcerer’s execution. If he were to look for the perfect moment to speak up, he would never find it.

When is there ever a good time to explain to your best friend that you are a lying liar who lies, but—oh, yeah!—at least you are sorry?

Merlin presses one hand to his chest, feels his heart drumming a frantic rhythm within his chest, and wills himself to calm. He breathes deep: slow inhale, hold it one-two-three, steady exhale, repeat. Just like Gaius taught him.

Arthur is his friend, not his enemy. Sure, he still acted like a prat sometimes, but he had come a long way since they’d first met. No longer is he the arrogant, uncertain young man desperately seeking his father’s approval: he has come into his own. Childish pranks, half-hearted insults, and persistent inclinations to drive Merlin to the brink of murder aside, he has proven himself a good man, a just prince, and a stalwart friend.

Arthur has put much faith in Merlin, trusting him with his fondest wishes, darkest nightmares, and secrets he’s never dared voice to anyone else. Years of habitual princely stoicism may prevent Arthur from speaking of his troubles freely, but he communicates in other ways, no less significant for their lack of voice. Merlin knows Arthur. It is only fair that Arthur be allowed to know Merlin in return.

Merlin _wants_ to be truly known by Arthur.

His heartbeat is still erratic under his hand, but he stills himself anyway and raps quickly at the door, afraid that he might lose his nerve if he wastes even one second more. Arthur is hard at work at his desk when Merlin slips anxiously into the room, the door clicking shut at his back.

“So, you’ve finally learned to knock, I see,” Arthur comments lightly in greeting, glancing up from his tax reports with an intimate smile that momentarily takes Merlin’s breath away. That smile reminds Merlin of why he’s doing this, why he’s taking a risk Gaius would likely throttle him for.

One day, he would like to deserve that sort of affection.

He attempts to return Arthur’s smile, but he’s never been much of an actor. Arthur sees right through him.

“Is something the matter?” Arthur says, extricating himself from his desk with a worried frown. He approaches Merlin like one might a skittish colt—cautiously, one hand outstretched—as if aware of how near his servant is to bolting.

Merlin giggles a bit hysterically at Arthur’s relieved expression when he allows himself to be drawn toward the supper table. Strong hands settle Merlin gently into Arthur’s favourite chair, the fur at Merlin’s back smelling just like the man leaning against the table with feign-casualness, blue eyes searching and kind.

“Talk to me,” Arthur asks, gently, where he once would have demanded.

Merlin swallows thickly, and braces himself for an uncertain future: “Arthur, there is something you should know about me…”

Maybe speaking up will prove to be foolish, but it will never be a mistake.


	2. Arthur's Side

By the time Merlin sees fit to finally stop shuffling about outside Arthur’s door like an indecisive puppy and actually enter, Arthur’s eyes are already started to cross from too long spent calculating revenues, comparing last year’s tax intake to this year’s projected intake, and wondering how the wayward bookkeeper, who has falsified some of the records, could have possibly expected his folly to go unnoticed. It’s something of a relief when Merlin finally gathers his courage to enter, though he’s a little surprised at the preceding knock.

Amused and glad of an excuse to set aside his work for a few moments, Arthur offers a welcoming smile along with his usual teasing. “So,” he observes, “you’ve finally learned to knock, I see,” and he’s ashamed to note that his tone is a few shades more fond than he had intended.

If Merlin notices, he doesn’t say anything.

He isn’t in the condition to say much at all.

The answering smile the boy attempts is sickly at best, though Arthur fancies it would be better described as downright _demented_, which is what tips him off that whatever has been troubling Merlin lately likely isn’t merely his unrequited crush on that flirty, vivacious young chamber maid as Arthur had initially supposed. Shame, that. Molly—or Milly, or something equally trite—is as pretty as a gardenia, but utterly without sweetness. The wretched tart has been flitting shamelessly about Arthur for the better part of a month, while poor Merlin stares forlornly after her with such a pitiful expression that Arthur has been itching for an excuse to either encourage Gwen’s unexpected (and unvoiced) desire to claw the heartless little hussy’s eyes out, or else “help” Merlin to get the girl into bed (and, hopefully, out of his system). He’d rather hoped Merlin had finally swallowed his pride to ask for help.

Obviously something much more serious has come up.

“Is something the matter?” he says, only it’s a stupid question, and he’s already rounding his desk to approach his friend. The closer he gets, the more concerned he becomes.

The darkened half-circles that have been growing under Merlin’s eyes are puffy as bruises, contrasting shockingly with the bloodless pallor of his face. He’s trembling a bit, chapped lips pursed tight, and he doesn’t look well. Not at all. In fact, he looks as if he might fall over at any given moment. That, or flee like a startled deer. What could have possibly brought Merlin to this?

Arthur spares a thought for Hunith, suddenly concerned that something terrible might have befallen her, but rules out the possibility almost immediately. Whatever this is has been building for a while. Merlin would have mentioned something sooner if anything were wrong with his mother.

The choked sound Merlin makes when Arthur finally grabs hold of him to guide him to a chair is alarming. Arthur tries to ignore it, hating the knotted feeling in the pit of his belly.

Merlin is pliant, if tense, under his hands. He doesn’t put up a fight when Arthur settles him down so that he can’t do something typically idiotic like come down with the vapours and pass out on the hard stone floor before telling Arthur _what the hell_ is going on (in which case Arthur would have been obliged to kill him—messily).

Arthur leans against the table behind him, studies Merlin a few minutes more, and makes another attempt to coax him to speak. He can’t fix the problem, if he doesn’t know what it is. And he will fix this.

Merlin should never look this way.

“Talk to me,” he says softly.

Merlin meets his gaze, blue eyes over bright, throat working audible, and finally replies in a low tone, “Arthur, there is something you should know about me…”

There are, indeed, many things Arthur should know about Merlin.

But he isn’t the only one guilty of living in deliberate ignorance.

# Bonus Snippet

  


_“Arthur, there is something you should know about me…”_

Merlin has the audacity to trail off with that none-too-promising introduction. Arthur entertains the thought of throttling him, but somehow his murderous glare traitorously morphs into something rather more helpless when the silly boy meets his gaze with the most wretched kicked-puppy expression imaginable. That was playing dirty.

Finally, when the silence becomes too much for him, Arthur has a burst of inspiration. “I think I know what the problem is,” he says kindly, reaching out to pat Merlin benignly on the shoulder.

Merlin blinks, eyes bugging out a little. “Do you?”

“Yes,” Arthur nods, matter-of-fact, “you’re in love with me.”

Merlin’s jaw drops. “I am not! Have you been in Gaius' stores again?!”

“Of course you are,” Arthur says, airily, pompously puffing out his chest and trying very hard not to burst into laughter at Merlin’s incredulous (bordering on outraged) expression. If he experiences a twinge of regret upon Merlin’s vehement denial, it is nothing he hadn’t expected and is easily disregarded. “No need to be ashamed.” He gestures down his body. “It’s my manly physique. No one can resist. You never stood a chance.”

“What…? No! You…” Merlin sputters to a stop, eyes narrowing. Arthur summons his most innocent mien. “You’re an arse.”

“Yes,” Arthur agrees, but there is more colour in Merlin’s face, so he counts it as a win. “Now, why don’t you spit out whatever you wanted to tell me, so I can tell you all the ways you’ve been an idiot for being such a girl, and then you can go to bed and return when you’re looking less ghastly. Honestly, Merlin, if you go around looking like that, people will be talking about how I abuse you.”

Merlin mumbles something insubordinate.

The knot in Arthur’s belly loosens. Whatever this is about, they are going to be okay.


End file.
